


Parrots

by lectorisalutem



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Comedy, Gen, One Shot, Prompt Fic, typical day in night vale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:59:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1931112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lectorisalutem/pseuds/lectorisalutem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another day, another broadcast - until John Peters (you know, the farmer?) spots a flock of very strange parrots headed towards Night Vale. Response to a tumblr prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parrots

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to a tumblr prompt: Night Vale is invaded by parrots with tongues instead of feathers. 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this. Any suggestions on improving my writing are super welcome!

Cecil was used to getting important text messages. As the voice of Night Vale, he had to be updated constantly on the town’s events – or rather, updated on the town’s constant events. It was part of being a radio professional, and he was used to it. 

He was not used to being surprised. 

The phone in his desk emitted a bicycle bell _ching_ as the Word from Our Sponsor segment played (“Look at your arm. Look at your hand. Look at your arm, compressing and widening _into_ your hand. Look at your fingers. Look at your fingers and realize that your arm flattens and spreads into five smaller, handless arms. Do you even have a hand? Do you actually have twelve arms? What about your feet? What about your organs – I mean, have you ever even _seen_ those? _Do you have organs?_ What do you have? What is yours? Who _are_ you?…Chick-fil-A. Eat Mor Chikin!”). He was pleased to see it was a text message from Dana, their recently elected mayor. Press conferences were the standard _modus operandi_ for mayoral announcements, but she was new at this, so he let it slide.

**From: DANA  
JUL 9. 1:29pm **

**Cecil, John Peters – you know, the farmer? – was out in his invisible corn field and spotted a large flock of parrots headed our way. They seem to have tongues for feathers. Nobody should let the parrots lick them! I mean, it would be a cool experience, but we don’t know what might happen. Please put an announcement on the radio. I’ll let you know what I find out. Thanks!! – Dana**

Tongues. That was new.

From the other side of the booth window, Intern Claudine signaled that he was back on the air. Cecil leaned into his microphone. 

“Listeners,” he began, “I have just received a text from our new mayor, Dana Cardinal. According to information sent to her by John Peters – you know, the farmer? – there is a flock of parrots about to fly into Night Vale. However, the parrots do appear to be covered in small, fleshy tongues instead of feathers. While a parrot covered in tongues might seem like a great potential pet, we are being advised not to let the parrots lick us. Please avoid contact with the tongue parrots. We will keep you posted on this as more information comes in.” He leaned back in his chair. “You know, listeners, birds are just so fascinating. I mean, with their nutritious eggs, and carefully constructed nests, and innate ability to operate heavy-artillery machines. How do they even reach the peddles? But hey. Who am I to judge? Good for you, birds, living up to your full military potential. We owe you our freedom.”

Another bicycle bell _ching_ played softly in the background. 

“Oop, looks like I have another text message… Ah. Our dear mayor Dana again. Listeners, I need to retract part of my earlier statement: upon closer inspection, the parrots are actually covered in tiny mouths that just happen to have exposed tongues. Well, now. That is just rude. Put your tongues back in your mouths, _birds_!” 

Grinning, Intern Claudine stuck her tongue out from behind the window. Cecil waved his desk notes at her in disapproval. 

“As a reminder,” he continued, “next week is our semi-annual Book Sale for the Night Vale Elementary School. Parents can purchase municipally-approved scholastic books, as well as fun reads recommended by our new Reading for Future Anarchists board lead by our very own Tamika Flynn. They will be on sale starting next Monday, and ending when the books spontaneously catch on fire, as they normally do when they expire. Remember, kids, always check your book’s expiration date. If you are unsure, simply rub the spine of the book until a small, secret flap located near the ISBN number on the back opens up. Inside will be a tiny fortune cookie, which, when broken, will reveal the lucky expiration date numbers, as well as a hint on how you will die. Fortunate, indeed! All proceeds will go to the Night Vale Public School system. Bring in a slingshot with helicopter-grade stones and receive a 10% discount off your purchase.” 

_Ching._

“Ah. Listeners, the parrots have arrived. They seem to be licking everything they can, wildly diving into cars, buildings, and stretches of sidewalk. It is unknown whether they are marking their territory, or just tasting a whole lot of things. They do seem particularly interested in the Pinkberry, so, probably the latter. A tank has been stationed by the vacant lot out back of the Ralphs, in the hope of luring them away from the main roads. So far it has not been licked. Remember, folks: _if the tongue’s not in its head, assume it can make you dead._ ” Cecil nodded. “Good old Boy Scout codes. You really do use them all your life.” 

_Ching._

“Wow, my phone is just blowing up today. Let’s see –“

**From: THAT JERK UGH  
Jul 9. 1:53pm. **

**cecil, its me, steve. i need to call you, but im letting you know ahead of time because i know you are busy and dont like surprises. but its important. its about the birds. okay, im gonna call you. janice says hi.**

Cecil blinked. “Ohhh no.” 

The phone in his hand began to ring. 

“No! Steve, you – I am on the air right now Ste – NO – _ugh_!” He hit the talk button angrily. “Steve! You can’t just call my phone! I am working right now!”

“Uh, sorry there, Cecil,” came Steve’s raspy voice. “I sent you a text message saying I was gonna call – “ 

“IgotyourtextmessageSteveIdonotcare,” Cecil spat.

“Well, it’s just, you know the birds that are all over Night Vale, with the tongues?”

“Yes, STEVE. I have been talking about the parrots for the last half hour. EVERYBODY KNOWS, STEVE.”

“Well Janice and I were out on the back patio, looking at ‘em, and you know what we found out?”

“Oh, my god,” Cecil groaned, squeezing his forehead with his fingers, “you’re not gonna hang up until you tell me, are you?” 

“Pop rocks! Cecil, you can toss pop rocks at ‘em, and _whoo_! They just, they just blow right up! I mean, have you ever seen a tongue-covered parrot blow up?”

“No. No I have not, Steve Carlsberg.” 

“Well. It is…” Steve laughed coarsely. “It’s, you know. It’s weird. But, I mean, if we gotta get rid of these birds, I think it’s a pretty good solution!” 

“Are – are you really doing this right now. You want me to tell people to give pop rocks to the parrots in order to blow them up.” 

“Well, the tank’s not working, so, until we get rid of them we can’t get anything done, right?” 

_Ching._

“Steve, I have to let you go. I just got a text message and, quite frankly, anything is more important than this. Tell Janice I said hello, don’t call me again, _goodbye_.” Cecil hit the end call button, perhaps with a little too much force, and opened the message. 

**From: Dana  
Jul 9. 2:01pm. **

**Cecil, I have an update for you. We’ve found out that coming into contact with the parrot tongues, or surfaces licked by the parrots, can cause people to enter a fugue state in which they think they are also parrots covered in tongues. They will aggressively lick surfaces and other people, attempt flight (so far unsuccessfully), and speak in what we think is a Xhosa-Latin hybrid. The parrots are recognizing this and speaking back to them. No one knows what they’re saying. While the birds have licked the tank, they seem uninterested in piloting it. Clearly, these are not normal parrots! Wow. Being mayor really is an interesting job.**

**I heard what your brother in law said. City Council and I have discussed it, and I have the sheriff’s secret police gathering as many pop rocks as possible. John Peters – you know, the farmer – is going to let us use his crop duster to disperse them over town. We are currently collecting everyone who has been affected by the parrot saliva, to let the effects wear off. Please advice everyone to stay inside. They may hear soft popping noises, not unlike a flock of tongue-covered parrots exploding. I will let you know when the streets are clear. – Dana**

Cecil was not used to being surprised. He was less used to being surprised and frustrated at the same time. 

He sighed heavily into his microphone. “Listeners,” he began tiredly, “it seems as if City Council, at the behest of our dear mayor and a certain… observant… _person_ , are going to take counter measures against the tongue-covered parrots. Do not let the parrots lick you, or touch any surfaces having been licked by the aforementioned fowl. Contact with their saliva can induce a hallucinatory state in which you may believe you yourself are a tongue-covered parrot. You are not. You are citizen of our fine city, and should not lick anything, attempt to fly, or communicate with the parrots, no matter how suddenly fluent you are in their language. Please, stay inside your homes or places of work, and wait for soft popping sounds. When the pops have ceased, City Council will clean the streets, and we may all return to our normal lives. Again, please stay inside. Steve, do not call me. Just – don’t.” 

Ten minutes later, soft popping noises pattered along with the weather, like thick rain on a metal roof. Cecil leaned back in his chair with a fresh cup of coffee, sipping his headache away. It was not easy being the voice of Night Vale, but in the end, it was worth it. He still remembered the first day he saw his name carved into the tablets at City Hall, and the swelling mix of pride and trepidation he had felt. He felt it every time the red “ON AIR” sign lit above the door of his booth. There was nowhere else he would rather be, no other profession he would rather perform. Another day, another broadcast; another opportunity to be part of a small desert city that meant so, so much to him. 

The soft popping was beginning to lessen. Cecil took a deep inhale of the rising steam and exhaled slowly, a man in every way content with his place in the world. He smiled above his coffee cup, toothy, and satisfied.

“Tongued parrots, thinking they can turn us all with their saliva,” he chuckled to himself. “Ha! Well then, parrots. _Welcome_ to Night Vale.”


End file.
